


Vanoo (hot and flustered)

by Sauou



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Accidental Sexting, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Moo gets a little mixed up on the computer, Sexting, maybe a little strange on the wording but i think it's good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 08:07:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13498004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauou/pseuds/Sauou
Summary: Brock accidentally sends something maybe he shouldn't have.





	Vanoo (hot and flustered)

**Author's Note:**

> for banana-bus-squad on tumblr

Brock wakes, hair soaked to his scalp with sweat, his face plastered in the pillow so hard that his lips tingle with numbness. His sheets stick to his back as he stretches across the bed. His chest still hurts, is sore, is sensitive. His nipples when they brush over the mattress only send him into further agony.

His shuttered curtains provide little light as he finally rises, tousled and thoroughly confused. He is warm all over, has been warm for days.

There is a fever about him, something is burning him up from inside, that tries to burn him out. His skin tightens as he stands. What he wants, what he really needs..

He is standing naked in his own bedroom, fully erect.

There is a pressure in his stomach as he walks to the bathroom, a tenseness in his legs, all the way down to his feet, his toes, that just won’t leave. He is as taunt as the string that’s pulled against the nail, and it takes everything in him not to rake his own nails across his chest as he lifts the lid of the toilet seat.

He is hungry. There is a fire beneath his skin that has been smoldering, burning for so long now that the feel of his own cock in his hands as he relieves himself makes his mouth water. Thirsty for something he doesn’t know how to name.

His skin is sensitive, flushed, and his arousal when it bounces back against his stomach as he finishes up is still swollen, still as hot to the touch as the night before. The walk back to his room is painful, in more ways than one, and he just wants to collapse back on top of the bed, sleep this burning away.

He sits in his chair and turns on his computer. His hand itches to drop down, stroke and scratch into the bushy grow down there but, so far, its solved nothing. His chest is still tight, his breath shudders in his chest as the screen comes to life and he begins to search.

 _Erection_. He types, instantly regretting it as the images assault him.

 _Help_. He tries again. _Too long. Lasting erection._

The results are all mostly useless, all except for one that stands out to him. The page is mostly blank, white and professional looking and, most importantly, severely lacking the descriptive explicit videos. There is a number on the screen, with instructions for him to follow.

He signs up for the site, head pounding, and then pulls out his phone to complete the required steps.

_Send a picture of the affected area._

Brock feels throughly embarrassed to be doing this, but he turns the camera on and aims it at his crotch. His cock stands straighter as he saves the picture, throbbing against his stomach.

The number isn’t a local one so he has to type up the full area code to enter it in. And as he begins to hit the last digits the nervousness that’s been undertaking him makes his hands shake and he drops the phone. It bounces off the floor and he immediately bends over to pick it up, regretting it completely the moment his cock is squeezed between his stomach and thigh.

He groans and curls his toes in the chair, trying not to thrust. He is burning up, has a fever buried beneath his skin, and he punches in the last digits on the phone without looking at them.

 _Help_. He types. And attaches the picture.

.

Evan leans his hand in his head and sighs, the throng of people that had been assaulting their booth all day finally thinning out now that the rain had been let loose. The entire city was soaked, cold and windy on top of that, and the whole convention felt eerily quiet and empty.

His mind is stuck in loops, circling again and again around the same damn thing. The same few instances that just won’t leave his head. He keeps trying to ignore them, as if by refusing to acknowledge the track of his thoughts, those moments caught in his head like spider webs would go away.

If they’d just go away.

Little moments, little things. Unimportant, passable and easy to miss instances where his eyes caught on something that shouldn’t make any difference but caused his heart to flutter without warning.

Without telling him why.

Why the light caught in Brock’s eyes, why his cheeks were just a bit redder than normal. Why his breath hitched when he joined the call, as if caught in an act better left under the bedsheets.

“Evan?”

He buries his head in his hand, covers his eyes, and tries to derail his wandering mind.

“Hey Evan, you feeling okay?” Marcel asks on his left. “You look a little flushed there, are you getting sick?”

He mumbles through his palm, “I’m fine,” but apparently this does nothing to ease the concern because on his right Tyler is soon patting his back, so hard that he lurches forward in his seat from the impact of it.

Evan turns to glare at Tyler, but the the faint shuffle of shoes over carpet announces the arrival of a fan and has him stiffing the words that want to come out.

Tyler grins back at him, slow and full of teeth. “Just go to the bathroom man, wash it off.”

Then slaps the same spot on Evan’s back again, but so hard that Evan actually does slip out of his chair this time, knees hitting the floor and his arm barely managing to catch onto the table before he face plants into the ground.

“I’m fine,” he grumbles back from his awkward position.

Marcel hisses to Tyler over Evan’s head as if he wasn’t still laying there, “Why’d you do that, he’s sick!”

Stumbling to his feet, Evan dusts himself off as “He’ll be fine!” comes back from Tyler with roll of his eyes, before putting on his game face and turning his attention back to the panel.

Evan sends a smile to the waiting fan, who smiles gently back in return just a little relieved. “I’ll be right back, just going to the bathroom for a bit,” he says before wobbling away from the booth.

.

Its hot, sweltering in his room, he can barely catch his breath it’s hard to breathe, he leans back in the chair stretching out. Trying to give his lungs the space they need, his legs spread open and it feels so good.

The sudden _ding_ of a new message on the computer.

 **Are you hard** she asks.

**Is it hard**

His head is swimming through murkery riverbeds, he is stuck in the currents, his thoughts are muddled up and still tangled in dark hair and it’s too late it’s too early he’s still too tired for this. His computer is radiating heat at him, it’s been running all day and night and he is sweltering away, and his heart is hammering away in his chest as he tries

 **Hot** he answers.

The screen is white the page is bright and all the black lines start to blur. Name and numbers row after row after row pages of information scrabble across the pages and he doesn’t know what to do. Why does it hurt?

 **Call me baby** she says

**Is it hard**

Where is reason why is she _is it hard does it hurt what do you need what do you want?_

**Call me baby.**

His mind muddles together _. Where does it hurt. Does it hurt when you touch it? Show me._

He is embarrassed but, desperate. 

**Please, baby.**

.  
****

His phone buzzes as soon as he pulls his pants down, so he sits on the toliet to see who’s messaging him.

The bathroom has two stalls and three urinals, and all empty as he walks in. He takes the stall that borders the wall, pulls his pants down, and sits.

There is a moment where he is alone, then the door echoes as it bounces open, someone hurrying into the bathroom. Heavy breathes announce the person as they slam into the wall of the stall next to him, fumbling with their belt buckle.

“Oh,” the other sighs, leaning against the back of the stall’s door, his pants and underwear pooled at his feet.

Evan expects to hear the splash as the guy next door aims for the toilet but instead there is a soft sound of skin moving. He listens, staring at the other man’s shoes that peek from under the gap in the wall.

Slick, slip, slick, slip. And then he realizes its the sound of a hand a fist, sliding and pulling a hard cock. Tugging, the man moans and his back lifts from the door, because he slams it back down again harder, pulls harder, the sound of wet skin slaps and echoes in the narrow space. Sounding so much louder from right beside him.

He can’t help himself, he blushes. He’s not sure the other man knows he’s here, and if he did he certainly doesn’t want the man to put a face to who listened to him masturbate, so he sits back and waits for the other to finish, and leave.

The moans are heavy, loud. You’d think he’d be close to completion, as urgent as he was to get into the bathroom, but the steady, strong pace just continues.

Evan’s face is beet red as he hunches over at his phone, unlocking it, his pants pooled around his feet, socks and underwear and shoes and he tries to be _quiet_ but he’s too warm. 

He is radiating heat, he is a slowly warming furnace that quickly boils over at the image on his screen.

The hand, thick, strong. Familar fingers.

Wrapped around a hot pulsing red cock that burns itself in his brain.

He thinks it a joke. Wants to think so, why else would .. on his phone, this number..

Next door his neighbor’s feet slip across the tile as he gets a better position, a firmer grip.

Moans, deep and throaty.

In his head _it’s all in his head why else would_ the sound is stuck in his head, _dark hair familar eyes_

_._

She keeps dancing with him, jerking him around, making him worse. Worse than he already was even, it’s pounding inside of him, driving demanding of him.

_Touch it._

**Touch it** she says.

**Show me.**

Desperate, Moo’s hand is shaking but his grip is firm, his voice is so full of want full of need.

 **Help** he says.

**I need you.**

.

Evan’s face is red, his cheeks his ears his chest is red. His hands, burning.

The heavy breathing from next door settles in Evan’s chest. The thick, wet gasps get stuck in his own throat as he swallows, and swallows again.

Red.

He doesn’t look down, keeps his eyes on his phone as the pressure burns, builds up pushes him up elevates him until his head is swimming far away from earth from any rational thought.

 **Help me** he reads.

 **Please** he sees.

His hand strays.

Just a slight touch, it had to be a mistake, just a brush but it cools so fast he’s hungry for more he can’t help himself can’t stop himself he’s got all of it in one fist and it squeezes his insides he has to burn out he’s burning up.

_Ding._

**Please.**

Brock’s hand, the thumb strokes across the tip and he shakes. Evan shakes in return, barely keeping still as he watches the video. The message made just for him.

He’s leaking.

He can’t breathe, moans, so heavy his breath catches in his chest he leans back against the toilet seat _cold against his back_ , his neighbor lets out one last groan, a moan so deep Evan can feel it down in his bones something inside of him

_Zip._

Fabric rustles and up go the stranger’s pants, the toilet flushes next door, the stall door opens and off they go, walking away and leaving him _like this_.

His hand on his cock _(when did he get here like this when did he get so hungry)_ flushed red from head to toe his phone clutched in his other hand, barely holding on.

.

 

_[If I tell you a secret, will you promise to keep it..](https://youtu.be/OQcRlQR4LgI) _


End file.
